


Easy As Cake

by DameOfNoDelicacy



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: (or /is/ it??!?!??), 58, Cake, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Gojyo is cute, Hakkai is also cute, M/M, Slice of Life, birthday fic, everyone is cute and i love them all so much gosh darn it, platonic friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-03 19:23:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12153192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DameOfNoDelicacy/pseuds/DameOfNoDelicacy
Summary: Hakkai wakes late one night to an unexpected clamor in the kitchen. He investigates, and before long, he discovers that his roommate has a sweet side. So to speak.





	Easy As Cake

He doesn’t spend many of his nights sleepless anymore.

He has, little by little, found it easier and easier to close his eyes - both of them - at the close of day, and to silently bear his pain when, night by night, the cold moon quietly bares its face. He has, little by little, ceased marveling at his unlikely survival, and he has, little by little, convinced himself to stop running his curious fingers over the ugly patch of raised, ridged skin upon his stomach beneath the layers of pajamas and bedsheets. He has, little by little, learned to accept that, however much he might wish otherwise, the rain will still fall some nights.

He has, little by little, begun to forget.

That’s what Cho Hakkai tells himself, anyway.

Which isn’t to say, of course, that Cho Hakkai regularly sleeps the whole night through. On the contrary, he’s grown accustomed to late-night clamor, and to drunken footsteps in the hall, and he knows exactly what it sounds like when his roommate grumbles his unintelligible frustration at his inability to crack open his tall, cool nightcap after two, and sometimes three, and sometimes four or more attempts. He’s come to recognize the plastic rattle of dirty dishes crash-landing in the sink, and the heavy thud of his incidental companion crash-landing in his bed in the room next door. Some nights, if his body is feeling especially restless or his ears are feeling especially perceptive, he can even make out the faint  _click_ and  _hiss_  that signals the lighting of the day’s last cigarette; on these nights, he always finds himself fretting - probably unnecessarily, even he can admit - over images of stray, smoldering ashes falling lightly to the floor and setting the meager house aflame.

Tonight, as usual, Hakkai wakes in the small hours of the morning to the slamming of a door and the muttering of a colorful string of expletives. He allows himself a small, solitary smile in the dark.  _He’s home safe, then. Good._ Deny it though he might like to, Hakkai can’t pretend that he doesn’t worry, sometimes. It’s clear to him that Sha Gojyo occasionally mingles with a less-than-savory crowd. Hakkai has seen the scars upon his host’s face, but he hasn’t yet summoned the boldness to inquire about them.  _Besides,_ he always reflects when these thoughts occur to him,  _who am I, of all people, to judge a man for the scars he bears?_

But those thoughts, Hakkai decides, are best left alone for the time being. He’s satisfied that the grisliest half of Gojyo’s evening has come to an end, and that, for now, is more than enough. And so, Hakkai rolls onto his side, pulls his blankets up to his chin, lets out a contented yawn, and prepares himself to sleep well until at least sunrise.

He barely makes it five minutes.

A massive clatter shatters the stillness. Instantly, Hakkai sits bolt upright. He sticks his hand out sideways, feeling around blindly on the nightstand for his glasses. When he finally locates them, he thrusts the thin frames onto his face and tumbles, barefoot, out of bed, throwing open the bedroom door and sprinting to the kitchen. “Gojyo?” he calls, his voice still thick with sleep. “Gojyo? What happened?”

In truth, Hakkai half-expects to find Gojyo sprawled on the ceramic floor, bleeding, or in a puddle of his own sick, or worse. A faint groan rises from the general direction of the kitchen, and Hakkai, his concern mounting, quickens his pace. “Gojyo!” he calls again, careening around the corner and skidding to a desperate halt. “Gojyo, I heard a crash! Something loud - are you all - ”

Just like that, Hakkai’s question dies in his mouth. For a moment, all he can do is stand in the kitchen doorway and blink, very stupidly, at what he sees. “Gojyo?” he hears himself say. His voice sounds small and silly and strangely far away.

Gojyo, for his part, blinks right back.

“Oh,” he says, helpfully. “Crap.”

Gojyo’s standing bent over the kitchen table, wearing nothing but his raggedy jeans and a sheepish smile. A mess of mixing bowls, stirring spoons, measuring devices, sacks of flour and sugar and spices, bottles of essences and extracts, a carton of eggs, a jug of milk, and about a dozen other items that must have been buried deep in the recesses of their kitchen cupboards, are spread out in a precarious-looking heap on the tabletop. All of it is completely covered in flour.

Gojyo himself is completely covered in flour, too. It sprinkles his eyelashes, and appears in standout splotches in his hair, the dusty white uncannily bright against the deep red. “Uh,” he says. “Hiya, Hakkai.” He starts to let out a mildly self-conscious laugh, but then a look of stark confusion comes over his face - and he sneezes, sending a brand new shower of flour, looking for all the world like a great, white, miniature volcano, blasting through the air. He sniffs, and wipes his nose with the back of one grimy hand. “Sorry, man,” he says. “I didn’t mean to wake ya.”

Hakkai takes a few cautious steps closer to the flour-flooded table. “What on earth,” he asks, “are you doing? And,” he adds, casting a swift glance to the clock on the wall, “at three in the morning, too.”

Gojyo shrugs. “Nothing,” he says, but Hakkai sees the way his smile turns sly. “Why don’t you just go on back to sleep. Okay?”

“With the kitchen in this state? I certainly think not.”

“I’ll clean it up. Promise.”

“Gojyo,” Hakkai says firmly, moving forward with purpose now, “I’ve seen what your attempts at ‘cleaning’ look like. Needless to say, no matter how earnest that promise is, I won’t be able to rest until I’ve tidied things up myself.”

“Uh - hang on, Hakkai - ”

“What is it?”

“Just - uh - hang on a sec, man - w-wait!”

Suddenly, Gojyo has his arms spread out wide, and he’s blocking Hakkai’s way to the mess on the kitchen table. Hakkai crosses his arms, and plays at patience. “You know, Gojyo,” he says mildly, “it’s considerably more difficult to clean something when you’re not allowed access to the thing you’re intending to clean.”

“Uh - yeah. Yeah, no, for sure. Just, uh - ”

“Would you move aside, please?”

“Uh - ”

Hakkai is trying his best not to grow exasperated, but in truth, it’s becoming more and more difficult by the second. “Gojyo,” he finally says, speaking through a tight smile, “what are you hiding?”

He watches Gojyo’s eyes flicker back and forth, rapid and nervous, between the table and his roommate. “Uh,” he says again - and then he hangs his head, and lets his arms fall to his sides. “It’s dumb,” he confesses, his voice low. “It’s - it’s really stupid.”

“Oh?”

“Nah, like - like, really, supremely stupid - ”

“Try me?” Gojyo glances up, and even through the flour that cakes his face, Hakkai can see a faint blush creeping into his roommate’s cheeks.  _He’s embarrassed,_ Hakkai realizes abruptly. “I won’t laugh, Gojyo. I won’t.”

“Tch,” Gojyo says. “Bullshit. You laugh at everything, Hakkai.”

“Not everything.”

“ -  _a-ha-ha-ha,_ like that - ”

“Not everything, Gojyo.”

“C’mon, you know exactly what I’m talkin’ about, don’t gimme that look - ”

He’s not quite sure whether it’s the right thing to do or not, but for better or for worse, Hakkai reaches out and lays his steady hands on Gojyo’s dusty shoulders. “Gojyo,” he says, and Gojyo’s rapid-fire words stop in their tracks. Hakkai looks squarely into his roommate’s bloodred eyes. “I won’t laugh,” Hakkai repeats one more time, and he hopes his voice sounds warm and honest. “No matter how - ah -  _stupid_  - you think it is.”

“…okay.” Gojyo takes a deep breath, then lets it out through his teeth. “I was trying to bake a cake.”

For the second time that night, Hakkai finds himself blinking dumbly at his roommate. “A cake?” he repeats.

“A cake.”

Hakkai feels the corners of his mouth quirking upwards, but he stops them, lest Gojyo think he’s about to let out a burst of laughter. “Whatever for?” he manages.

“Uh. Well,” Gojyo says, breaking away from Hakkai and reaching for one of the low-backed chairs tucked in at the kitchen table; Hakkai resists a strong urge to cringe as he watches Gojyo sit down, settling his backside without any care for the abundance of flour covering the seat. “You, uh - you’ve been here for a little while now, y’know?” Gojyo starts, not meeting Hakkai’s eyes.

“Yes,” Hakkai replies. “And you know how grateful I am for every- ”

“Save it,” Gojyo says, with a crass wave of his hand. “I’ve heard all of that from you before. Anyway,” he continues, “Today’s the first day of fall, so - I mean, I sorta guessed - and I might’a remembered wrong, but - but I coulda sworn you once told me your birthday was in the fall. Right?”

At that, Hakkai’s mouth falls dead open. “Oh,” he says. “Gojyo…”

“Right? Fall, right?”

“Ah - near enough, yes - ”

“Aw, shit.” Gojyo’s fist lands hard on the dusty table. “Did I mess up? Is it spring? I knew it wasn’t winter - dunno why I remembered  _that_ for some reason, but - ”

“No, no,” Hakkai says, moving sideways to pull a second chair out from under the table, and seating himself upon it, suddenly heedless of the messy flour that’s sure to make a distinct impression on his immaculate pajamas. “You were very close. The equinox shifts slightly from year to year, of course - ”

“The equi-what-now?”

“The - the first day of fall, that is - ”

“Oh.” A spark of hope alights in Gojyo’s face. “So - so I was right? Did I remember right, Hakkai? Your birthday’s the first day of fall?”

“Almost,” Hakkai says, and this time, he allows his mouth to curve fully into the smile that it wanted to make earlier. “Usually, it falls - ” He pauses, wincing slightly at the accidental pun in his words, “ - on the last day of summer.”

“Huh,” Gojyo says. “Guess I didn’t do too bad, then, huh?”

“No,” Hakkai answers. “No indeed, Gojyo. You didn’t.”

They sit silently together, in the dark, flour-dusted kitchen, for a long moment. Then, it occurs to Hakkai to wonder -

“Say, Gojyo?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you - um - actually know how to make a cake?”

“…uh.”

Hakkai smiles again. “Not to worry,” he says, rising, and brushing his hands crisply together. “I’ll help you.”

“You can’t make your own birthday cake, moron,” Gojyo says, an affectionate smirk twisting his features - but he, too, rises, tucking a strand of white-caked crimson hair behind one ear to get it out of his face.

And so, they get to work. Hakkai shows Gojyo how to sift flour properly, and Gojyo shows Hakkai that confusing tablespoons for teaspoons and dumping an ostensible excess of vanilla extract into a bowl of batter probably won’t spoil a whole entire cake. They bake, and they joke, and they fling flour and eggshells at each other - something that, prior to this year, Hakkai would never,  _never_ , have envisioned himself doing - and, in the end, the cake makes it into the oven, the dishes make it back into the cabinets, and Hakkai and Gojyo make it back into their seats, exhausted and batter-spattered and laughing like idiots.

“So, yesterday,” Gojyo says, after their laughter finally, finally settles. “Your birthday was yesterday.”

“Yes.”

“Happy birthday, man.”

“Thank you.”

Gojyo cocks his head to the side. “How old are you?” he asks, eyeing Hakkai’s face and considering. “Is this a lucky year for you or anything?”

At that, Hakkai can only smile.

“It’s my first birthday,” he says.

Gojyo stares, perplexed.

Hakkai chuckles.  _Perhaps,_ he acknowledges, _it was cruel of me to put it that way. And after Gojyo made such a nice gesture, too._  “I’m sorry,” Hakkai says softly. “What I mean is - Cho Gonou has had many birthdays. But this is Cho Hakkai’s first.”

Understanding dawns in Gojyo’s face. “Ahh,” he says, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. “I get it. Cool. That’s cool.” He leans back in his chair and fishes a cigarette from his pocket, lays it between his lips, and lights it up, and the smell of stale tobacco begins to mingle with the aroma of baking cake.

And Hakkai watches, and he lets his smile grow even wider. “And do you know what?” he asks.

Gojyo takes a drag on his cigarette, and he lets the smoke out in a dark, elegant stream that cuts through the mites of flour still lingering in the air and rises to the ceiling. “Hm?”

Hakkai’s grinning now - perhaps, he realizes, for the first time in nearly a year.

“Given the circumstances,” he says, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first published Saiyuki fic ever, so - um - I’m a little nervous about posting, actually? But, I mean - I couldn’t not do something for Hakkai’s birthday this year. I’ve been putting off joining the Saiyuki fandom for ages as it is, and the timing of Hakkai’s birthday with the ending of the ReLoad Blast! anime yesterday struck me as mildly poetic. Not sure how, exactly but… well, that’s the “mildly” part?  
> Meh. Anyway.  
> Also, I dunno how well this little thing really reflects my typical fic writing (read: I am normally the mayor of Angst City so be warned for the future my friends), but heck, it’s a birthday fic. And god knows poor Hakkai can use a few genuine smiles. So… yeah! Hope you enjoyed it, my friends! Thank you for reading!


End file.
